


enough

by schuylering



Series: gravity i never learned [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:19:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schuylering/pseuds/schuylering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Her dad doesn't look like he knows what to do, either, and on a dime Angie's mad at him. She wants him to fix this, fix whatever's gone dead in her chest and fix what he fucked up with Mom and fix what happened to her brother and they can all go back and she can be happy again.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	enough

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for mental illness.
> 
> \- it's official, guys, it's a series  
> \- i started writing this before the last installment of the series, but no matter what i do to it (including cutting out like, a third of it) it doesn't seem to want to hold together. so, this is less a fic than a series of vignettes, covering the weeks following the last installment.  
> \- file under: things i should've mentioned before now: alex and eliza are (were) in a v-shaped poly relationship with laurens, so that alex was sleeping with both of them and john and eliza were like, good friends. alexander and eliza are still married; the whole thing is somewhat complicated (and is definitely getting a fic of its own soon) and has become even more complicated the the wake of the reynolds affair.

I.

Alexander wakes up in the middle of the night, startled out of sleep by a dream: he's back in the house he grew up in, the rooms above the store where he and James and his mother lived, where his mother died. Philip is there, somehow, a little kid again. His mother picks him up, cooing at him, but he knows his mother's dead. He knows it, and yet here she is, and Philip's with her, and Alex is saying, _Estoy tan contento—_

He wakes up gasping, fear drawing his stomach tight. In a minute, he knows, he tells himself, the dream will seem stupid and nonsensical. The dread will rolls back and he'll be fine. He's fine. He's always fine.

Right now, though, in the dim hospital room, the heavy fearful feeling seems too real. The bright lights on the machines seem alien, the sight of his son laying still on the bed in front of him even worse. Alexander scrambles to touch him, press two fingers to the inside of his wrist and feel his pulse beat, _one, two, three, four. . ._

He counts to sixty twice before he's satisfied, and unbidden he thinks about his mother. Lying next to each other in her bed, so sick that the memories he has are nightmares unto themselves. Waking up to his mother's hand around his wrist, his mother's mouth forming soundless words, _cinco, ses, siete, ocho. . ._ Her look of joy when she sees he's opened his eyes. Hours, minutes, days later, when he whispers _Mamá_ and she says nothing. Forcing his fingers to wrap around her wrist, searching for the faintest of heartbeats to count and finding nothing, still nothing, and knowing. Knowing.

Alexander stands up abruptly, back in the hospital room, feeling suddenly ill. He doesn't let himself remember that day, has stuffed it with the rest of his childhood in some back corner of his mind and he doesn't want to remember it now. Philip's okay, he reminds himself, they said he's going to be fine. This is nothing like that day, thirty years and so many miles away. No one's dying today.

He sits back down, the sick feeling receding. He looks at Eliza, sitting across the bed from him, and makes himself take a deep breath. He's here now. His kid is going to live. He has a wife and even if she still doesn't trust him, won't ever trust him again, things are better between them then they've been in a year. He has a job that's important, a family. He's okay.

He looks at Eliza again, fast asleep in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs. Even here is this awful hospital room Eliza has held herself upright and steady, and Alex marvels. She is everything he's not, calm and patient, exactly what he always needed. And he's the one who fucked that up, he has no one to blame but himself. 

She'd asked him that first awful night _why_ and he'd said _I don't know _, the most honest he'd been with her in a long time. Maybe it was inevitable: if he believes in destiny for all the good things, he has to believe in the bad, too.__

__But he won't believe his son almost died for a reason, that his mother—and he won't do himself the disservice of saying he fucked up his marriage because he was meant to. He knew what he was doing. He didn't know why—doesn't know why—but he was there every moment Maria's hands were on him, every time he told himself he'd stop, tomorrow._ _

__But he's going to be better, he tells himself, same as he'd been telling himself since he was fourteen. But this time it's not for himself: it's for his kids, for Eliza who deserves so much better. Eliza who'd looked at him when she first found out with unfathomable betrayal, worse than if she'd screamed or sobbed. Eliza who's spent days in this hospital watching their son with her chin in her hand, eyes deep and wide and sad._ _

__He wants to reach out to her, do whatever he could to make this better, to make it never happen at all. But he can't, he knows. All he can do is wait, and it grates against his nature, but for the first time he's trying to become better than his nature. So all he does is wait._ _

__

__II._ _

__The hospital is washed out, pale in the early morning light as Eliza wakes up, opens her eyes. Philip is asleep, breathing steadily. Alexander is awake, looking like he hasn't slept all night: his face is haggard, watching their son breathe between them._ _

__She shifts, trying to straighten out her stiff back, and Alexander looks up at her. Neither of them say anything, the silence between them tense but bearable._ _

__Finally, Alexander says, "The nurse came by a little while ago. She said everything's fine."_ _

__Eliza nods. "Good."_ _

__They both watch Philip in the bed between them—almost grown, now, but still looking so small against the pale white sheets. She doesn't know what she would've done if—_ _

__But she doesn't have to think about that now. Full recovery, the doctors said. Better every day. Across from her Alexander seems to be thinking the same things, frowning slightly and watching Philip intently._ _

__The silence seems heavy, still bearable but only just. She can see the parking lot outside the room's window, flat and gray. The monitor next to Philip's bed beeps steadily, only making the silence more noticeable._ _

__"Listen," Alexander says suddenly, in a low voice, "Eliza—"_ _

__"Alexander," she says, tired: she doesn't know what he's going to say but she knows that tone and she doesn't know if she can hear it right now._ _

__"I know I fucked up," Alexander keeps going, like it's something he's been needing to say. "The affair and the post and before that, too. You do such good work and you raised our kids and you never complain. You're so good, Eliza, and I know I've never deserved you."_ _

__She watches Philip's chest move up and down, up and down, tiny increments but enough. She doesn't know what to say, doesn't even know what she wants to say to him: that had always been Alexander's department, innately aware of the right words to use._ _

__And she knows, too, that he will be able to talk himself out of this, all of this, that that's why she cut him out so completely last year. He can create anything from words and she will fall for whatever he creates, every time._ _

__But she also knows that he means it, that he never says anything he doesn't mean. He puts his whole heart behind everything he says, and if he says he's sorry—_ _

__"Eliza?" he asks, timid._ _

__"I don't know what to say," she tells him, honest. "I don't know—" She stops. "I know you're sorry. You've told me you didn't mean to hurt me and I believe you, God forgive me, I do. That you didn't mean to hurt our family." She glances up at him; he looks quietly overcome, just that she believes him. "But I don't understand it. I don't understand how you could do what you did and not stop to think about me, about the children, because I know you didn't, Alexander. Anyone who had thought about his family for even a moment wouldn't have done what you did."_ _

__"Eliza—" Now he looks hurt, deeply, eyes wide and wounded and she wants to apologize even as she knows she has no reason to._ _

__"I don't need you to—" she says. "I just—that's what's going through my mind about this right now. I thought you should know." She wants to add that even telling him this much is more than she thought she'd ever do. She doesn't live like him, heart on his sleeve._ _

__She can tell he wants to say something more, and she's disproportionately glad when there's a knock at the door, silencing him. She doesn't know if she can hear it, right now._ _

__Angelica slips into the room, whispering, "Hey." Eliza smiles at her, much as she can. "The kids are here," Angelica tells them. "I had them go get a snack at the cafeteria, in case this wasn't a good time."_ _

__"It's fine," Eliza says. "He's asleep, but he's always asleep. The doctors say it's good. He's healing."_ _

__"Good." Angelica smooths her hand over Eliza's hair, and Eliza lets herself lean into her sister's touch, steady. She only lets herself have a few moments of calm before she asks, "Did Angie come with you?"_ _

__Angelica's hand stills on her hair. "No," she says. "I'm sorry, babe. Peggy's with her at home."_ _

__Eliza closes her eyes; when she opens them again, she sees Alex rubbing a hand over his mouth, eyes worried. "Okay," Eliza says, and her voice doesn't waver. "Tell the others they can come see him."_ _

__Angelica nods. "All right," she says. She lets her hand drop from Eliza's hair as she goes over to the bed to press a kiss to Philip's forehead. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she tells Eliza, and Eliza nods. Angelica touches her shoulder as she leaves, comforting._ _

__

__III._ _

__There's a knock on the door but Angie ignores it, like usual. If Mom, or James, or Will want to come in, they'll come in anyway._ _

__When the door opens, though, it's her dad that slips through. She's surprised, in a detached kind of way; she doesn't think Dad's been in this house since, well, everything. He closes the door behind him and goes to sit in the chair by her bed._ _

__"Hey, Angie," he says. He looks like he wants to reach out to her, smooth her hair back from her forehead like he used to do when she was sick, but he doesn't. "Your mom told me you won't get out of bed."_ _

__She's surprised in that dull way that Mom had told him anything; she didn't think they talked at all anymore._ _

__"Your brother's okay," he tells her. "I know your mom probably told you he was coming home, but he's here now. We just got him from the hospital."_ _

__He's using to soft, calm voice he uses on the little kids, and she feels like she should be mad about that but instead it's soothing. Still, she wants him to stop talking, stop talking about Philip and reminding her of her brother, hurt, shot, in the hospital hooked up to machines—_ _

__It's her dad's reaction more than anything that lets her know she's started crying; he looks suddenly helpless, desperate to make her stop being sad. "Angie," he says. "Angel," he says, the nickname he'd always call her even after the rest of the family had adopted Angie; he said he still liked it, and sometimes he'd say it with a soft remnant of an accent, _Ángel_ , and it made her feel special, a nickname just between the two of them. She and her siblings always competed for their dad's attention, always an event when he came home from work and they'd talk over each other to see who could tell him about their day first, who could show him the A+ or the soccer trophy or the video of their recital. Even after last year, with the affair and the way Mom had walked around for weeks with that terrible hurt look in her eyes, after they'd moved back to New York and Dad stayed in D.C. not just for a few weeks or a month but indefinitely—even after everything, they'd all jostled to be in on Skype calls with him, huddled around the phone put on speaker to hear his stories about the president and to tell him about their lives. Angie had been the one to hold onto her anger with him the longest, staying silent when they would call him, but even so she'd still be there, listening. _ _

__For some reason remembering even happy things makes her cry harder: she doesn't understand but she doesn't understand anything about herself lately. She's stepped outside herself, become a mystery in her own skin. It's grating, tiring, and she wishes it would stop._ _

__"Tell me what's wrong," Dad says, pleads with her._ _

__"I don't know," she whispers, truthfully. It had been about Philip but now—he's going to be okay, Mom told her, and Aunt Peggy told her, and now Dad's told her, but now that she's in this hole she can't seem to climb out of it. She doesn't know what to do._ _

__Her dad doesn't look like he knows what to do, either, and on a dime she's mad at him. She wants him to fix this, fix whatever's gone dead in her chest and fix what he fucked up with Mom and fix what happened to her brother and they can all go back and she can be happy again._ _

__Instead of doing any of that he leans forward, presses a kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry," he tells her. She just closes her eyes._ _

__

__IV._ _

__Alexander looks up from the kitchen table when Eliza walks in, hands stilling on the keyboard of his laptop. The table itself is half-covered in papers, the way it always used to look when he'd still lived here._ _

__"He's asleep," she says, and Alex looks relieved. "James wanted to sit up with him, but I'm hoping he just falls asleep, too."_ _

__Alex nods, and then rubs at his forehead wearily. The kitchen is still and silent, oddly cold this late at night._ _

__"Do you have to go into work tomorrow?" she asks, after a moment._ _

__He looks guilty, which wasn't her intent. "Maybe," he says. "I have to makes some calls, but I could do that from here."_ _

__"It's fine if you do," she says tiredly. "I was just wondering."_ _

__"Okay."_ _

__She leans back against the counter, rubbing her temples. She hears the scrape of the chair being pushed back, but doesn't look up until she senses Alex standing in front of her._ _

__"Eliza?" he says. "I'm serious, I won't go in tomorrow—I'll sit with Philip, you can get some sleep."_ _

__She gives a short, humorless laugh. "You're just as exhausted as I am. Don't—" She stops. "Don't do this. Don't try to make up for everything by—"_ _

__"That's not—"_ _

__They stop, looking at each other. "That's not what I'm trying to do," Alexander says._ _

__She sighs. "Okay."_ _

__They stand facing each other, the silence that's been a constant between them in the last week back again. Their gazes catch; for a moment Eliza sees her own desperate helplessness mirrored back at her, and then they seem to move together, reaching for one another._ _

__Then Alexander's lips are on hers, and for a second she could forget everything: his mouth is familiar, his hand on her waist safe. After everything, her first instinct is still to lean into him, open her mouth under his._ _

__It lasts for several long, heated seconds before she makes herself pull away, step back. And step back again, to put some needed distance between them. The both stand across from each other again, silent again._ _

__"Just tell me," she finally says. "In the last year, since—" Since the night before the post, when he'd slipped into bed late into the night and rested his hand over her hip. When she'd turned into him, and he'd run his hand over her back and under the waistband of her pajama pants, when they'd rocked against each other lazy and slow and she'd been happy, or thought she'd been happy, or she was just too stupid to know any better. "How many?"_ _

__He has the gall to look hurt for a moment, but he must see something in her gaze—she hopes he sees something in her gaze—and all he does is take a breath, run a hand over his hair. "John," he says finally._ _

__"I know," she says. "I'm asking who else."_ _

__"You know?" he repeats, looking surprised._ _

__"Yes," she says crisply, "because he told me. At least he remembered what our deal was." He shifts uncomfortably at that, but she doesn't particularly care. "Who else."_ _

__"That's it," he tells her, looking her straight in the eye. He looks serious, almost pleading. "I swear."_ _

__She looks at him a second. "I want to believe you," she tells him, her voice softer now without her permission. "I do. But I just—" She stops._ _

__"I know," Alexander says. "I know."_ _

__They stand in silence for another few, excruciating moments. It feels like all Alexander's done lately is explain himself to her. There are moments when she just wants to forget all of it, but she knows they could never survive that. If they're really going to salvage this, whatever's between them that has them standing in this kitchen together even after everything, they need something more than forgetting._ _

__

__V._ _

__The whole house is dark and still as Angie drags herself out of her room, across the hall to the bathroom. It's the only reason she's gotten out of bed in a week or two now, and she tries to time it right so no one else will be around. She doesn't think she could handle talking to any of them; she doesn't think she could handle seeing the hope in their eyes._ _

__After she washes her hands she's headed straight back to her bed, but she stops, halfway across the hallway. At the bottom of the stairs there's a patch of light, falling through the living room windows from the streetlight outside, and just beyond that, she knows, is her brother._ _

__Without really deciding to she's walking downstairs, across the patch of streetlight. In the dining room they've set up a bed, chairs set around it like a hospital room. On the bed is Philip, hurt and still and pale._ _

__She hovers in the doorway, not wanting to go any closer. She doesn't want to see Philip like this—her older brother, who was always tall and strong and funny and smiling and now he's liked this. He looks small._ _

__She walks into the room, sits down on one of the chairs by his side. She's been so detached from herself, this strange girl who won't get out of bed. For the first time it feels like a blessing, allows herself to just act without thinking it through._ _

__"Philip?" she whispers, barely any breath behind it, but he doesn't move._ _

__Her shoulders sag; she doesn't know why she's here. She wants to go, but the idea of walking back up the stairs seems so daunting she wants to cry. The idea of leaving her brother, now that he's here, next to her, alive and breathing, seems unthinkable._ _

__Slowly, she crawls onto the bed they'd made for him, carefully avoiding the IV and his bandaged side. She curls up next to him, and closes her eyes, and for the first time in weeks falls sound asleep._ _

__

__VI._ _

__Eliza comes downstairs to find Peggy on the couch, watching TV with her knees pulled up to her chest and her chin in her hand. She looks up when Eliza reaches the doorway. "Hey."_ _

__"Hi. Can I—?" She gestures to the couch._ _

__"And interrupt—" Peggy turns back to peer at the TV "— _SVU_? Please," she says earnestly._ _

__Eliza smiles, settling herself next to her little sister on the couch. "How's Philip doing?" Peggy asks seriously, after a moment._ _

__"He's okay," Eliza says; she doesn't have the energy to explain more fully, but Peggy seems to understand._ _

__"How's Alex?" she asks after a few moments of silence, glancing at Eliza._ _

__Eliza sighs, rubbing at her temples. "Don't."_ _

__Peggy holds her hands up. "Whoa. Innocent question."_ _

__Eliza looks up at her and realizes that it's true; Peggy had honestly just been asking. "Sorry," she says. "God, Peggy, I'm sorry, I just—"_ _

__"I know," Peggy says. "Hey, I know."_ _

__Eliza takes a deep breath, trying to restart this conversation. "He's okay," she tells Peggy. "He's been—" She stops. He's been like she remembered him from when they first got married, caring and attentive, and she wants to hold it up as proof that he's changed, he's not the same man that would cheat on her and then humiliate her, himself, their children. But she knows at least in part that she'd been so determined over the last year not to care, to convince herself that he was uncaring and cold, that of course he, the real Alexander, would seem so much better in comparison._ _

__She doesn't know how to explain any of that, though, not out loud. But Peggy's looking at her softly, like she understands or will at least try to, for Eliza's sake. So instead of trying to explain Eliza confesses, pulls out the thoughts that've been tangling inside her head since that first terrible night at the hospital._ _

__"I think—" Eliza says. "I forgive him. For—everything," he says. "Or, I love him more than I'm angry at him." She pauses, gathering her breath. "Does that make me weak? Or stupid? Or." She stops._ _

__"No," Peggy says firmly, covering her sister's hand with hers. "Eliza, no. It means—it means you're willing to forgive. That's a good thing. You're not going to forget what he's done—" Eliza scoffs a little at the thought. "Exactly. You're not forgetting, you're just trying to move forward. That's not weak."_ _

__Eliza nods. She believes Peggy, and it's good to hear, but. "Angelica will think I'm weak," she says quietly, not meeting Peggy's eye._ _

__"Oh, Liza," Peggy says, and wraps her arms around Eliza's shoulders, pulling her against her side. Eliza goes willingly, leaning her head on her little sister's shoulder. "No, she won't."_ _

__"She will."_ _

__Eliza feels Peggy shaking her head. She turns, making Eliza look her in the eye. "She won't. Just because she won't forgive Alex doesn't mean she'll think you're weak for taking him back. She knows you're not her. She's never wanted you to be her. No matter how much you wanted to be."_ _

__Eliza smiles a little. She had always wanted to be Angelica when she grew up: she had written it up for a school assignment once in kindergarten, something her family has never let her forget. "How do you know?" she asks, still._ _

__"Because I wanted to be both of you," Peggy tells her. "You think there's anything about my big sisters I don't know?"_ _

__Eliza smiles, but as soon as she does the tears she's been holding back seem to break free. She's cried so much in the past few weeks she thinks she shouldn't be able to cry anymore, but she is. Peggy says, "Eliza—?"_ _

__"I'm okay," Eliza says, and Peggy looks doubtful but it's true, Eliza realizes, it's true. "Really. Thank you," she tells Peggy, and squeezes her hand tight._ _

__She's okay, she thinks. She's okay._ _

__

__VII._ _

__The upstairs hallway is dark and quiet as Eliza slips out of Beth's room. When all of the kids were still little she used to make a round before she went to bed, checking on each of them and making sure they were safe and asleep. As they got older she'd slowly stopped the routine, but it had felt right to bring it back tonight. It's late; they were all fast asleep, and safe, and she's grateful._ _

__At the end of the hall Alex is ducking out of his study, in his pajamas but still wearing his glasses, obviously not going to sleep. When he sees her he pauses._ _

__"Hey," she says softly._ _

__"Hey." He glances back to his office. "I was just gonna get some papers from downstairs," he says, like he needs to account for why he's here._ _

__She nods, easing Beth's door shut behind her. He hesitates for another moment, before starting to move past her toward the stairs._ _

__"Alexander."_ _

__He stops, turning to look at her. He looks surprised, that she'd reach out, that she'd want him to stay around._ _

__She doesn't let herself think, but only because she has thought, long and hard, about all of this. She gives into instinct but only because it's backed with long sleepless nights of debate with herself, and she knows, as she reaches out for him, brushing her hand over his cheek, that she's doing what she wants to do._ _

__She kisses him, light but sure. He goes absolutely still before starting to kiss her back, long indeterminable moments before they break apart._ _

__"Eliza," he says, breathless, a question._ _

__"Shh," she says against his lips, and kisses him again, deeper, sinking into the familiar way his mouth moves on hers, the way his hands come up to her waist and hold her to him. She pulls him toward their room, and he follows her, hands trembling on her skin._ _

__It's okay, she realizes all over again. It's going to be okay._ _

**Author's Note:**

> i mentioned that i cut a bunch of stuff out of this before posting; i'm still somewhat attached to a lot of it even if i didn't think it fit in the final version, so [i posted it on tumblr](http://schuylering.tumblr.com/post/135348516933/cut-scenessnippets-from-enough-feat-more) so people can check it out if they want to. like dvd extras, or something.


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